


Schatten der Zukunft

by carmenta



Category: Elisabeth
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-01
Updated: 2006-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/pseuds/carmenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death's first true awareness of Rudolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schatten der Zukunft

The death of a cat did not warrant any particular attention. Too many of these animals died every day. By thrown stones, by poisoned rats, by drowning when they were too young to even open their eyes. By illness and by age and by simple human cruelty.

However, death by the first real sword of the crown prince of the Austrian empire was a rare occurrence, and one deserving of closer scrutiny.

Death did not usually concern himself with cats. Felines held a certain appeal, stemming from ages past when they had been associated with his domain. But they were what they were: animals and therefore not nearly as intriguing as the more complex humans. Even there it was rare at times to find a truly fascinating soul.

This time, however, the death of the cat provided him with an interesting little trail. So far the crown prince had not mattered. Death had come close to him once, when the child had still lain in the cradle, and he had seen him again in passing when he came for the boy's sister. Such a gentle girl she had been, quiet and all smiles when he had approached her. Undemanding, unassuming, so unlike her mother. Death had made it quick for her, to avoid boredom. Back then the precious heir had been nothing more than a wailing infant, without thought and without a spark of originality. Disappointing when one took into account the child's lineage.

Now, however... Death watched as the cat was slain, in the make-belief that it was a fearsome dragon. Just like the boy's ancestor had once defeated such a terrible beast, or so the legends claimed. Death knew better, of course. He had been there when the lethal wound had been struck, and had been greatly amused. Mortals so liked to cling to their romantic interpretation of gruesome events.

He saw the momentary hesitation on the boy's face as he touched the bleeding animal. All the energy with which he had impaled the cat was gone, faded with its squirming and wails of pain. The little face was pale, eyes wide and dark as small fingers touched the blood-soaked fur. The fingers came away red, and for long moments the child stared at them. Then he ran for the closest bushes.

Death stayed and occupied himself with gathering the cat's spirit while he waited for the boy to make up his mind about his newly discovered mortality. It would be such a disappointment should he decide that death was something to be loathed and feared. Surely his mother had taught him better by now. There was so much to be gained from closeness.

Then again, she had denied him, only to run away with a weak-blooded mortal. She had refused him for a mere emperor. Which, in a twisted way, made her even more intriguing. Death liked it when they fought.

It placed her out of reach for now, although Death amused himself by visiting, lest she forgot that he was always waiting, ready to seize his opportunity as soon as she let down her guard.

The boy came back, wiping his chin with a small hand. His face was drawn and pale, but he wore a determined expression as he slowly approached the slain cat. The blood had spread into a small puddle by now, beautiful crimson under the soft morning sun, and Death took a moment to appreciate the unintended artistry of a white cat in red, almost like the flag the boy would one day represent. He wondered whether the boy knew about the origins of his empire's emblem; the blood-soaked tunic that had served as an improvised flag in the midst of battle, a stripe left white where a belt had held off the splattering blood. A day he remembered fondly.

Curiously he watched as the boy touched the cat again, careful to keep his little polished boots clear of the blood. The look of fascination on the child's face made him smile with satisfaction. No fear, not after the initial shock had worn off. Only wonder now. Death reached out, and the child shivered deliciously as the incorporeal hand touched him. Still too young to provide true entertainment, but there was something about him, a feeling of depth, of a tender soul, juxtaposed with strength and dreams. Spirit. Almost like a small mirror of Elisabeth, still without the cracks that had begun to show in her image.

Rudolf would bear watching.


End file.
